


the she-wolf and the storm lord

by ayuminb, bythunder



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: (also thirst - the idiots are thirsty af at some point), (and things begin to unravel), (in which bobby is shocked and awed and amused - and lya is unimpressed and a little grateful), (other stuff happens too we promise - plot relevant stuff), (then curious and then a LOT more curious), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Background Characters - Howland Reed & Richard Lonmouth & King Aerys II Targaryen, Background Relationships - Starklings, Canon Divergence - Tourney at Harrenhal, F/M, Pre-Canon, Robert Discovers Lyanna Is The Mystery Knight AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-26 03:52:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15655224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayuminb/pseuds/ayuminb, https://archiveofourown.org/users/bythunder/pseuds/bythunder
Summary: It takes Robert a long moment to make sense of what he is seeing. Lyanna Stark stands in the middle of a small clearing, just before the heart tree with its grisly face, struggling to take off a mismatched suit of armor – a very familiar looking mismatched suit of armor.-In which it is Robert, not Rhaegar, who discovers the truth of the Knight of the Laughing Tree during the Tourney of Harrenhal.





	the she-wolf and the storm lord

**Author's Note:**

> follow us at [All the Wolves have Antlers](https://allthewolveshaveantlers.tumblr.com/) on tumblr for more Lyabert content!!

There was something exciting about a tourney. Even small local tourneys were enjoyable, but a tourney like _this?_ This does not come about every day. Only rarely does every kingdom come represented at a single event. Or nearly every kingdom anyway. Lord Tywin Lannister wasn’t present, no one from the Westerlands was, or at least, no one who mattered. Rumors flew about how the King and his Hand had quarrelled and that young Jaime Lannister’s subsequent appointment to the Kingsguard was more insult than honor, but none of that mattered to Robert. He did not care a wit for courtly politics. He was here for the joust, for the melee, for the sport, for the drinking and the feasts, _for the women._

 

Robert has to mind himself though. With all this celebration, it would be all too easy to get into trouble. Too much to drink, too many women about… Around every corner, another temptation. Were it not for the fact that his betrothed is here as well, Robert would gladly indulge, but Ned had taken him aside and warned him fiercely, _“You will not insult my sister, Robert. Not if you have any hope to take her to wife.”_ Robert had laughed off Ned’s words then, but he couldn’t shake them entirely. Ned was too damn serious at the best of times, but this… this was different. There was a threat in his words. _The tourney is only ten days,_ ten days, he can behave himself that long.

 

And he has. He has been true to his word. Even as deep in his cups as he’d been at the opening feast, he hadn’t so much as fondled a single serving girl. If that isn’t the restraint of Baelor the Blessed, then what is? It’s not as if he doesn’t want to marry Lyanna Stark, he does. She’s a sweet girl from a good, noble family, and far lovelier in person than he expected, a true Northern beauty. It is only that he wants to have a bit of fun first, before he commits himself to one bed for the rest of his life. Lyanna is pretty, yes, but a _lady_. He knows her kind. Sweet and soft and compliant. And _utterly dull_.

 

But, as he must have the dull life of a lord, he’d rather have that dull life with her. And it would be much more pleasant if she were happy in it. If it takes keeping his hands to himself to make her happy, then by the gods, he will try. _Now if only there were a way to make her see that._ Let Lyanna know that, while he may stray _now_ , he won’t once they wed. _I’ll try my very best not to, at least._ That ought to please her, he hopes; Ned had told him much about his sister, all good things, too, but he’s also said little of what she thinks of him, beyond that harsh warning.

 

Robert might not know her very well, but he’s not blind; Lyanna is a proper lady, all right, but even her polite demeanor cannot hide her resistance to the match. _It’s fine,_ he thinks, _I’ll show her I can be a good husband._ That he _can_ be loving and faithful. If he has to woo his wife-to-be, that is what he will do.

 

But wooing can wait. For now, his attention is solely on the joust. It is the second day. Some of the weaker competitors had been weeded out the day before, but today’s competitors were hardly any better. New made knights who could hardly tell the stock from the point. It wouldn’t be until the fourth day that the competition would get truly interesting.

 

Or so he thought, anyway. However, the arrival of the Mystery Knight changes that opinion rather quickly. There is nothing possible that could add more excitement to a tourney than a mystery knight. Robert smirks, leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he assesses the knight’s appearance; it’s hard to truly tell, but he looks small compared to most of the participants, small and slim – a young boy, perhaps? Definitely not a squire, not when one considers the mismatched armor, unless one of the attending nobles proves to be utterly miserable and petty that he won’t provide with his squire with decent equipment.

 

The breastplate is dented, Robert notes, he wears no gorget but a camail under his helmet to cover his neck. The pauldrons are too big on his slight frame, as are the couter; there’s no visible hint of a rerebrace, but he thinks he spies what looks like a set of vambraces. The gauntlets look as ill-fitting as the rest of the armor, pitifully so, and mismatched as well. He won’t bother to even inspect the rest of his suit. The boy must be either incredibly skilled or incredibly _stupid_ , for he sits his mount — _a rounsey,_ Robert thinks, _a common enough breed, but not particularly fitted for this_ — with all the confidence of a seasoned warrior, gives off the same impression while handling his lance. _But will that apparent confidence hold once he tilts?_ Robert focuses his eyes on the shield, hoping the painted image will give him a hint as to the knight’s alliance, but finds only a pretty picture of a weirwood tree – a _laughing_ weirwood tree. _Huh, a Northerner, is he?_ As far as Robert knows, they are the only ones to keep to the Old Gods anymore.

 

Or it could be just a misleading tactic on this boy’s part.

 

He watches with interest as the Mystery Knight takes a slow lap around the lane, building the anticipation of the crowd, before he settles at one end and couches his lance, while his opponent readies himself at the opposite end. The horses stamped their hooves, the flag drops, they charge. The knight holds his lance steady, _skilled_ he is, and his aim is good. The lance breaks cleanly against the Blount knight’s shield, though he keeps his seat. They each return to their starting positions, grab new lances, and tilt again. The Mystery Knight digs his spurs into his rounsey’s flank, urging the beast to a gallop, faster than his opponent. The added momentum gives him the advantage. This time, when they connect, Ser Blount is knocked backwards and falls from his mount’s rear. The Mystery Knight lets out a whoop in celebration, takes a victory lap around the lanes, before calling upon his next opponent. Robert blinks, feeling mildly surprised at the knight's choice - a member of House Haigh; it was unusual for a boy who could scarce afford fitting armor to fight someone with not enough wealth to make the match the most profitable it could be.

 

Ser Haigh accepts the challenge. He mounts a roan destrier, takes a lance from his squire and they tilt. Once, twice, thrice. On the third pass, there is a mighty crash, and the Mystery Knight sits low in the saddle. _Knocked over?_ No, he has ducked under Ser Haigh’s lance, while his own struck true. The Mystery Knight rights himself as the Riverlander lands in the dirt. Another victory and another ransom to collect. Though, Ser Haigh is near twice the size of the Mystery Knight, the armor won’t be of much use, except perhaps to sell. The mount however is certainly a step up from what he rides now.

 

As the winner, the Mystery Knight continues along the ranks. He calls upon a Frey next, who accepts with a cocky smirk. _Too cocky_ , Robert thinks and he is proven right the moment the tilt begins. The competitors charge, the pounding of the hoofbeats drowned out by roar of the crowd, the excitement building, _building_ , and… it’s over. Ser Frey’s horse trots to the end of the lane, but the rider, he has been left behind. One hit, well aimed, squarely connected to the center of his chest, and he was knocked from his horse without much fuss. The Mystery Knight stands in his stirrups, fist thrust in the air as he claims his winnings.

 

Custom dictates that the victor allow the fallen to ransom their belongings back. Whatever they cannot afford to reclaim, the winner keeps. However, the Mystery Knight rejects the gold they offer him. Instead, he says to them, and the watching crowds, “Teach your squires honor, that shall be ransom enough.” He releases the horses back to the care of their masters before riding from the grounds, cheered on by the crowd of common folk.

 

Robert himself cannot help but let out an enthusiastic holler for the knight as well. He has truly made this a tourney to remember, after all. _He must be smallfolk_ , he decides as he ponders the identity of the knight. Any nobleman would’ve worn decent armor, Mystery Knight or no. A boy seeking knighthood, perhaps? It would give a reason for his words, though he suspects, there must be a deeper situation there.

 

“Ten gold dragons says that was the Lannister boy,” Richard Lonmouth says to him as they discuss the matter. “Too proud and too eager to prove himself to obey the King’s orders back to King’s Landing.”

 

Now there is a thought, certainly, but what he knows of Lannisters begs Robert to disagree. “I’ll take that wager. I’ve never once seen a Lannister out of gold.”

 

Ser Richard laughs. “Come, who do you think the lad was then?”

 

“I do not know. Someone trying to make a name for himself, I figure.”

 

“Tch, no knight that good hasn’t had proper training. He is nobleborn, I tell you that.”

 

“I’ll take that wager as well. What do you say? Ten dragons to the man who unmasks the knight, and another ten to you if he happens to be Ser Jaime.”

 

“You make a rich bet, my lord. I accept only because I know you are good for it.”

 

“Do not mind if I am good for it, ser. I would only worry about your own purse.”

 

Richard laughs and clasps his hand to seal the deal. “You’re on, Lord Baratheon.”

 

They part ways then, each left to his own devices to discover the identity of the mysterious competitor. _Ned,_ Robert thinks immediately. Ned would help him in his task.

 

However, when he proposes the idea to Ned, he refuses to humor his desire to unmask this Mystery Knight, saying he ought to look for Lyanna and Benjen, who’ve been missing since the morning meal, while Brandon is currently occupied entertaining the Lady Ashara, lest they cause some mischief – Robert laughs again upon remembering that. _Benjen, perhaps,_ he thinks, _but not your sweet sister, Ned._ Not the lovely Winter Rose of Winterfell, she can't possibly have a single mischievous bone in her body. _I'm on my own._

 

It's happenstance what makes him look up at the right time to catch sight of little Benjen sneaking off in the direction of the godswood with a bundle of cloth in his arms. _Nothing more than a coincidence,_ he thinks, but Robert follows regardless. Perhaps if he takes the boy back to Ned, his dearest friend will help him on his quest. But as soon as Robert enters the trees, he notices something odd about the bundle the boy carries. _Is that – a gown?_ Could the youngest Stark be involving himself with a young lady? His surprise makes him lag enough that he loses sight of Benjen for a few moments, and by the time he catches up Robert stops. He freezes on the spot. _That… is that—?_

 

“Ben! What took you so long?!”

 

“I'm sorry!” He rushes to his sister with the gown – _it's hers, the bundle is Lyanna’s clothes_. “But I had to be careful, Ned's looking for us.”

 

It takes Robert a long moment to make sense of what he is seeing. Lyanna Stark stands in the middle of a small clearing, just before the heart tree with its grisly face, struggling to take off a mismatched suit of armor – a very familiar looking mismatched suit of armor. The boy he barely recognizes from the opening feast, one of the Starks’ bannermen if he's not mistaken, tries to help her while remaining silent among the squabbling siblings.

 

Then things take a turn for the unexpected.

 

“Then we must hurry— _ahh!_ ”

 

Lyanna startles, screams, grabs the first thing at hand and _throws it at him_ . With surprising accuracy and strength— _she throws the godsdamned shield_. Which Robert catches easily in one hand; he blinks, stares at the laughing face of the weirwood tree and slowly, _slowly_ , it finally dawns on him.

 

“My lady… _you_ are the Mystery Knight?”

 

“She didn’t mean any harm by it, Lord Baratheon,” the other boy, the stranger, says. “She only meant to—”

 

“Shut up, Howland,” Lyanna hisses at him and he falls silent. To her credit, she does not shy away as Robert approaches her. No, she meets his eye and tilts her chin upward, proudly, defiantly. “So what if I am the knight?”

 

“It just surprises me, is all. I would never have guessed that Ned’s ladylike sister—”

 

“I am _not_ ladylike.”

 

“Clearly.”

 

She growls —little thing actually _growls_ — and takes a step closer. “What is that supposed to mean?”

 

Robert laughs, holds his arms up in a gesture of surrender. “Only that I don’t know you half so well as I thought I did.”

 

Lyanna loses some of her fierceness at that, her brows furrow and her lips turn downward in a frown. “You don’t know me at all.”

 

“It seems not.” The admission hurts, only a tiny bit; Robert pulls his eyes off of her stormy grey ones and looks at the shield in his hands. The weirwood tree smiling up at him, the symbol of the North, Robert knew that much. _Fitting_. “Where did you get this?”

 

“We took spare armor from the scrapyard. The shield I painted myself,” she tells him and takes it out of his hold, holds on to it closely, proud of her work.

 

“It’s not stealing,” Benjen interrupts, quick to defend his sister. “No one was using the armor anyway.”

 

“No one accused you of anything,” Robert aims to put his mind at ease. “But help me understand something… Why do any of this? Why go through all the trouble?”

 

“My lord, this is my fault—”

 

“Shut _up_ ,” Lyanna hisses at the boy, Howland, again. “It was my idea.”

 

Robert raises an eyebrow and begs her continue.

 

“Those knights had honorless squires. They needed to be taught a lesson.”

 

“And you needed to be the one to teach them?”

 

“Someone had to. And no one sits a horse better than I.”

 

The urge to show his amusement is strong, but he manages to bite back his smile. “Modest, you are.”

 

“Did you see me ride?” She aims for a cocky smirk, but her grin overwhelms it and Robert finds himself enchanted with her smile.

 

And he cannot argue. Her confidence is completely well-earned. The Mystery Knight was a true competitor, all agreed. He’d even overheard men taking bets on whether the knight could win the champion’s purse, as he'd done, if on a different matter. Small as he —well, _she_ — was, the knight was skilled, unhorsed her opponents relatively quick. It wasn’t an unreasonable wager.

 

“You are quite the horsewoman,” Robert agrees. Lyanna may not like him very much as of yet, but she preens under his compliment nonetheless. “But I cannot help but wonder what your brothers might think of this… escapade.”

 

Lyanna’s glorious smile falls. “They don’t know about this.”

 

“I thought not.”

 

“You cannot tell Ned.” It is not a plea, but a command. Her small hand grips his wrist and her nails bite into his skin. There is a steel in her eyes and Robert finds himself quite possibly even more infatuated with this girl.

 

“Please, Lord Rob— Baratheon,” Benjen stumbles. “She didn’t do anything wrong.”

 

“Wrong, no,” Robert admits. Though she has no knighthood, her blood was as good as anybody’s, and that gave her the right to compete, even if the circumstances of her gender would disqualify her. “But dangerous, yes. You are untrained, do you understand the risk—”

 

But Robert doesn’t get to finish his reprimand as Lyanna has retrieved her gauntlet from the ground and now waves it in his face. A challenge.

 

“A duel, my lord,” she explains. “If I can disarm you, you won’t tell a soul what you’ve seen.”

 

“That hardly seems fair, as I am already unarmed and you’re in full plate.”

 

“Then go fetch yourself a sword. I’ll wait.”

 

Robert smirks at that, amused by this she-wolf he has found. This is not the same Lyanna he’d danced with at the opening feast, the girl hidden behind cool courtesies. _This Lyanna_ , she feels somehow more real, her true self. Amused as he is, he really ought to put a stop to this foolishness, knows that however good she believes herself to be, he still has the advantage of size and training. But he is too intrigued to back down. So he agrees to play her game. _What’s the worst that could happen?_ And isn’t that just the kind of thinking that invites problems; he taps his chin and nods. “Very well, I’ll go fetch myself a sword.”

 

Robert turns, but doesn’t move from his spot, letting his gaze survey the forest ground for a long time, even if a part of him knows the delay will only serve to increase her anger. Robert doesn't understand how he knows that since, up until now, Lyanna had been nothing but prim and proper, courteous and gentle. _A lady._ She's given him no reasons to think otherwise; not when she'd given him her favor before he'd charged into the melee, nor when she'd courteously accepted his request for a dance. So what if she frowned a little? She'd not been by the time he stopped asking for _just one more dance_.

 

But none of that had sparked this… _curiosity_.

 

 _Now_ , he thinks his perception of her might have been based off a pretty and not very friendly façade.

 

“Do you need help finding your way back, Lord Baratheon? I’m sure Benjen wouldn’t mind showing you the way.” Her brazen attitude should really _not_ amuse him so. “Or have you reconsidered our _friendly match_?”

 

If only her words matched her intentions, Robert might believe her; it is no friendly match what she seeks, though, but simply to get back at him for some perceived insult on his part. Robert smirks, and walks towards the base of a tree; behind him he can hear hissing, and Benjen whispering urgently at his incensed sister. _Careful, you’re treading on thin ice, Robert Baratheon._ He picks up a sturdy enough branch for what’s to come, then turns around to find a pair of icy grey eyes focused on him.

 

“Let’s start,” he says, and lifts the branch as if it were a sword.

 

Lyanna pauses, eyes widening in shock and he must stomp down the urge to laugh lest she takes it as another insult when it’s _not_. It is only… he just finds her incredibly cute.

 

“You mock me, my lord.” Her eyes narrow, and the smile that pulls at her lips is positively dangerous, a wolf with teeth bared. “That is not a sword and this is a serious match, even if it is _friendly_.”

 

“I would not dare mock you, my lady.” The absolute truth; Robert wishes to do many things now, but mock her is not one of them. “But as I am not familiar enough with your skill, I would rather avoid tempting the gods. I do not wish for you to go back to your older brothers, skin marred black and blue.”

 

“Wood against steel,” she deadpans.

 

The grin is impossible to hide this time. “I’m sure you can pretend it’s a training sword.”

 

That strikes a nerve, _for some unknown reason_ , and her hesitation leaves her. And soon, they’re circling one another in this secluded part of the forest.

 

Robert won’t pretend he is _not_ entirely fascinated by her now; the determined set of her jaw, the resolute glint in her eyes, there’s no awkwardness in her grip as she lifts the sword - she knows the bare basics at the very least. He is proven right once she lunges – steady, her sword thrusts forth though Robert manages to parry her attack with ease. She lacks proper training, obviously, but her wrist was strong enough anyway, and she has the right instincts for it; she’s nimble enough on her feet that, were she to train formally, she’d be giving him a harder go of it now. _Perhaps even win._ Lyanna goes on the offensive again, sword drawing a wide arc, and he must hasten to get out of the way. She pushes for another attack, and another, _another_.

 

Thrust, twist, slash; dodge, block, parry. On and on they go, an never-ending dance that just won’t wipe the grin off his face, won’t force his eyes away from her defiant form.

 

And _Lyanna_ —

 

Then he feels a drop of sweat trail down the side of his face, he’s begun to breathe harder; the thrill that runs down his spine, _overwhelming_ , it scares him, so he moves to end it, this friendly match of theirs.

 

His next parry carries enough force to make her arm buckle under its strength, he’s quick to step into her personal space, quick to seize her wrist and apply just the right amount of pressure to make her loosen her hold on the sword so it clatters to the ground. Robert moves a fraction closer, leans down so he may look right into her eyes, and taps the tip of his branch gently to her chin, whispering:

 

“I win.”

 

Then he steps back, letting go of her wrist to pick up the sword. He hands it over to little Benjen, who takes it in stunned silence. Then he rounds on her again, propping the branch against his shoulder. “I must admit, my lady, I am well and truly surprised,” he says, and gives her a smile to show her he means his words. “You sit a horse better than my best men and have enough skill with a lance that not even your ill-fitting armor and barely adequate horse impeded you to unseat three well-prepared knights. Clearly, you had your reasons for it, I won't pry, but allow me to say I am quite impressed.”

 

If he’d tried to conceal his wonderment, Robert might have failed, but as it is, he isn’t trying at all. And it _shows_.

 

Because even though Lyanna frowns, there is a definite red tint to her cheeks that has nothing to do with their recent exertion. “Thank you, my lord.”

 

“Formal training is all you need. If you’d had it, I’m sure I’d be on my rump now, with a blade at my throat.”

 

That gets a smile out of her, a _genuine_ one, and he will consider all of this a success.

 

“Have no fear, Lady Lyanna. I will not tell your brothers,” he says, and then grins. “You are to be my lady wife, your secrets are my secrets.”

 

That, she does not find amusing. She replies with a curt nod, “Thank you.”

 

It’s a pity, her retreating back to her icy fortress, because he’s finding that she’s much too tempting when in one of her silent rages, and he _likes_ that so very much. However that is a thought for another occasion; now, it’s Robert who leaves all jesting aside. “I do believe we made a wager, my lady.”

 

“Name your prize,” she replies sullenly, still bitter in her defeat.

 

“Tomorrow’s joust.”

 

“What of it?” Her startled expression is prize enough. No doubt she thought he would ask for something else. A kiss, perhaps. The thought had crossed his mind, to be sure, but no, what he asks instead is far more important.

 

“I’d tell you not to compete tomorrow— if I thought you'd obey. But you won't, so I ask you instead. Please, do not enter the lists.” He is quick to stall her protest, pinning her with a serious look. “Whatever your reasons, my lady, what you did today is not something that will be easily overlooked, you know that. Already, there are some who seek to unmask you.” He chooses to exclude the fact that he was one of those who sought to do just that. “Had you thought of what were to happen if you’d been unseated?”

 

Lyanna scoffs. “There was never any chance of my losing. Not against them.”

 

“Against Ser Arthur Dayne, though? Or what if you are to tilt against your brother?”

 

“I could beat them too,” she says defiantly. Her confidence is charming, but it serves as a stark reminder just how young Lyanna truly is, still so naive.

 

“And so you win the tourney. The champion must present himself to the King. What would you do then?”

 

“I— I would…”

 

“The men you bested, the lords they serve, even the other contestants – none of them will be thrilled nor impressed by you. Many will see it as an insult even, to be bested by a girl. This could unleash serious troubles upon you and your brothers, even your lord father.”

 

He can tell his words are getting through to her by the anxious way she chews at her bottom lip. It takes a long few seconds before she finally nods. “I understand. I will consider your request, my lord.”

 

“I mean it, my lady, I'd rather not have you face any consequences for these actions.” Having said his piece, Robert then dismisses her. “Now, you best hurry up and get back to camp before Ned comes to find you himself. He’ll be less understanding than I.”

 

Lyanna nods and thanks him again for his secrecy. She returns to her brother and friend to strip her of her armor and Robert takes that as his cue to leave. That certainly wasn’t the discovery he expected to make, but truly, he thinks what he found is even better.

 

* * *

 

Lyanna heeds his words. She doesn’t want to, had no intention to. After her victories today, she was looking forward to repeating the performance. Even as she walks with Howland and Ben back to the tourney grounds, she is planning how she can manage to sneak away again tomorrow. However, it is a tense scene they return to and she is forced to reconsider Robert’s request.

 

“Where have you two been?” Brandon scolds her and Benjen as they enter the Stark tent, and wouldn’t he be horrified to know just how much like Father he sounds. “You cannot go running off anywhere you please.”

 

“We weren’t running off,” Lyanna argues, while Benjen asks, “What’s happened?”

 

Their big brother grabs them both by the shoulder and pulls them deeper into the tent. “The King is unhappy.”

 

“Father says the King is never happy,” Benjen says with a roll of his eyes.

 

“Mind your tongue, lest someone hear you,” Ned shushes him.

 

Her little brother looks down, chastised.

 

“Why is the King unhappy?” she asks.

 

“It seems he took the Mystery Knight’s presence as an insult.”

 

Lyanna feels the blood drain from her face and her heart starts racing. No, no, _no_ , why should the King think that? Why should he pay her any mind at all? _I didn’t do anything wrong!_ “Wh-what insult?”

 

Brandon shrugs, fortunately oblivious to her stutter, though his frown doesn't lessen. “Who can understand the mind of a madman, little sister…”

 

“Brandon,” Ned scolds him as well, then sighs and turns to his younger siblings. “It makes no matter what the King thinks, but so long as he is angry, I want you to stay close. Don’t go off alone again. Promise me.”

 

Lyanna nods as Benjen mumbles, “promise,” under his breath.

 

“I’m sure this black mood will pass by morning,” Brandon reassures them, though he does reinforce Ned’s command. “But until it does, stay nearby.”

 

Brandon is wrong, as it turns out. By the time the jousts begin the next morning, the King as gotten, if anything, more agitated. His dark eyes glint maliciously as he watches the yard. The Mystery Knight was slated to tilt first, by design no doubt. Everyone in the crowd watches eagerly, all waiting for the knight’s arrival. Only Lyanna, sitting between her older brothers, and Benjen, who sits on Ned’s other side know that the knight would never show. For half a breath, Lyanna thinks — _hopes_ — that when the Mystery Knight doesn’t arrive, that the King will let it all go. Fervently, desperately, trying to convince herself he’ll see it as a harmless thing. But, _no_ , it is worse than her worst fears.

 

The King stands, curls his fingers around the rails, talon-like nails digging into the wood as he speaks. His voice is slow and clear, clearer than one would expect to look at him, and somehow, that makes it all the more menacing. “It appears our mystery contender has withdrawn from the ranks, heh. And why should he do that? Only a man with something to hide… As I suspected, a traitor!”

 

A murmur ripples through the crowd, and Benjen turns to her, looking as wide-eyed and frightened as she feels.

 

“A traitor and a coward,” the King continues. “For why else should he run, rather than face his crimes like a true man?” He gives a chuckle, a rasping, clawing sound that sounds more animal than man.

 

Lyanna flinches at that, balls her fists up in her skirt and tries to bite back the tears clouding her vision. She cannot cry now, cannot lose her head. She must think, _think, Lyanna, how do we fix this?_

 

“Are you alright, Lyanna?” Ned whispers in her ear, his hand coming to rest over hers.

 

Lyanna manages to nod her head somehow. “Fine, Ned.”

 

The King’s voice draws her attention back to the royal box. “Rhaegar! My son… and heir.” The Prince stands and moves to his father’s side. “ _My son_ … Find this… Knight of the Laughing Tree. Find me the traitor! …And he will answer for his crimes.”

 

The King’s evil cackle, an awful wheeze of laughter, drives Lyanna from her seat, though mindful enough, only just, not to attract unnecessary attention to her departure. She cannot stay here and do _nothing_. Not when the King is seaking her blood. She walks from the stands hastily, barely restraining herself from a run, heedless of the curious stares of those nearby, Benjen dogging her heels.

 

“What are we going to do, Lya?” Her little brother ask in hushed, frightened tones, looking everywhere to make sure they’re not being overheard.

 

“I don’t know!” She snaps at him, before deflating in resignation. “I don’t know.”

 

“Lyanna—” Howland rushes up to the pair of them, looking just as frightened as they do.

 

“The armor, we have to find the armor before anyone else does,” she says in a whisper, trying, _trying_ to keep a rational mind, but it’s difficult with the stakes so high. _The punishment for treason is death._ And the armor, it is the only thing that could damn them. “Find it and hide it or…”

 

“We— we left it in the godswoods,” Ben says softly.

 

She nods, taking deep breaths, trying to look confident and in control, even though her heart is racing and her knees feel weak beneath her. “Then we’d best hurry.”

 

The three of them take off in a rush towards the entrance of the godswood, trying to take advantage of the rush of people coming and going to hide their frantic movements. However, they hardly make it very far before Lyanna is stopped in her tracks. Someone grabs her by the arm and she nearly screams, legs kicking out on instinct and missing, before she catches sight of who it is.

 

_“Robert!”_

 

“You’re going to draw attention to yourselves,” he says, voice low, as he releases her, “running about as you are.”

 

She hasn’t the time to dally, even if his words are true; the more they delay, the higher the chances of discovery. “Did you _not_ hear the King? He said—”

 

“I heard him.” Robert stops, looks around quickly before giving her a dashing smile that’s a step away from being genuine; he seizes her hand, pulls her away from the trees, and leans close. “Let me help you.”

 

Benjen and Howland shift closer, as curious as she is. It takes Lyanna a moment to realize why he’s affecting a jolly demeanor, why he’s grabbed her hand; she tries to stop herself from looking around as well. _There are so many people about, we will never get away with this._ A despairing thought, even if now the onlookers see nothing more that Lord Baratheon smiling at Lady Stark.

 

“I don’t want you to get into any trouble.” She frowns, because truly, she appreciates his offer, but it would not be fair for him to have to bear the brunt of this fallout. _This is my mess._ “No. Robert, I’ll find a way—”

 

“Please.” There’s no humor in his voice then, fake or otherwise. “You – any of you have the build to fit the Mystery Knight, you are too conspicuous… Unlike _me_.”

 

He lets those words sink; Lyanna looks at him in shock, eyes sweeping up and down. _He’s right,_ the thought comes unbidden and she wonders why it never crossed her mind before. _As tall as he is, Robert is the last person anyone would suspect of being the Mystery Knight._

 

Benjen looks relieved. “Lya—”

 

“I couldn’t ask—”

 

“I am offering.”

 

Howland taps her shoulder, tilting his head and, over his shoulder, she catches a glimpse of Prince Rhaegar walking into a tent along with the Kingsguard. “Lyanna… we must hurry.”

 

It is the safest option and there is no time to argue besides. “Alright,” she consents, but stops him from rushing off by tightening the hold on his hand. “…Thank you, my lord.”

 

“Thank me when it’s done with,” Robert says. “Now, where is that armor of yours?”

 

Using the brief commotion the Prince created, Lyanna leads him quickly back through the godswood, with Ben and Howland just behind, to the clearing where they had dueled the day before. The armor was wrapped in a sack, tucked away beneath the brush. Lyanna drags it out from its hiding place and passes it along to Robert.

 

“Is this everything?”

 

Her jaw clenches when he asks, knowing it is because he wants to be sure, and the answer must be dragged forcefully out of her.

 

“Yes.”

 

“You forgot your shield,” Benjen says, unveiling her lie. He pulls it out from the undergrowth, but Lyanna snatches it from his hands before he can give it over.

 

“I am _not_ giving up my shield!”

 

Her little brother blinks in disbelief. “You have to, Lyanna.”

 

“No!” She clutches the shield, holds it fast against her chest. Unreasonable. She knows it is unreasonable to think she could keep it, but… But this is _hers_. She created it herself, it is her own sigil.

 

“Lyanna, you know you cannot keep it.” Robert places his hands on the shield and gently pries it from her arms. “It is the most damning piece of evidence. The armor is inconsequential by comparison.”

 

“But—”

 

He shakes his head, looking suddenly regretful. “It must go.”

 

Reluctantly, she agrees, though it pains her so to see her shield stuffed carelessly into the sack and slung over Robert’s shoulder, knowing that soon enough, it would all be gone. As if the Knight of the Laughing Tree never existed at all…

 

“I’ll be back as quick as I can. Do not fear, Lyanna.”

 

His grin is bright and genuine, this time, he drops a kiss to the back of her hand and then leaves. The urge to follow is almost overwhelming, but Lyanna is no fool – reckless, wild, defiant, _perhaps_ , but not a fool. So when Benjen asks what they should do next, she replies with a confidence she may or may not possess at present time.

 

“You and Howland – you both go back to our tent, make sure Brandon and Ned don’t come looking for me.”

 

Ben hisses, “Lya, what are you going to do?”

 

She squares her shoulders, mind made up. “Why, I am going to wait for my betrothed in his tent, _of course_.”

 

* * *

 

She paces the Baratheon tent anxiously, casting quick glances at the entrance every time she heard voices coming closer or any other noise, actually. Twists the skirts of her gown and stomps down the urge to run out and go looking for any of them. Only Benjen and Howland know where she is and briefly, she thinks if it wouldn’t have been better to ask them to let Robert know. Her teeth sink in her bottom lip; Lyanna stops her pacing, rubs her eyes and wills the stinging to stop, just stop— _this wasn’t supposed to happen_.

 

The King’s enraged expression when the Mystery Knight failed to show up in today’s lists, his eerie commands _to bring the knight before him and unmask him_ , the rushing soldiers and lords alike. Lyanna can still remember the panic setting in, Benjen’s grip tightening on her arm—

 

The rustling of canvas makes her turn around, and she lets out a breathless laugh.

 

Robert smiles when he sees her there. “Lyanna—”

 

She rushes to him, grabbing onto his doublet and pulling him quickly further into the tent. “How did it go?” The question comes out rushed, in a whisper as she’s still very much worried someone might overhear. “And what of my shield? Robert, please—”

 

His grin is smug, with a hint of mischievousness to it that sets her heart clattering in her ribcage. “It went fine and,” he says, makes a show of bowing to her, “it’ll please my lady to know, your precious possession is safe in a secluded place. I managed to spare it. It was no easy task, I must say, not with all those soldiers running about. But as I told you, nobody paid much attention to me due to the Mystery Knight’s actual size.”

 

Robert goes on to regale her with the tale of his daring actions, exaggerating everything for her sake most likely, so she would not worry; Lyanna can only assume. However, just as she’s begun to relax, just as her lips begin to twitch in an attempt to form a smile, a shadow looms outside and the tent flap rustles. She tries to shush him, but he doesn’t understand her hurried motions. The flap lifts, she catches a glimpse of red and black, and acts on instinct.

 

“So, I found the perfect place to—”

 

Lyanna hisses at him to _shut up_ , but he doesn’t hear her. However, she cannot allow him to keep talking, so she does the only thing she can think of. She grabs fistsfuls of Robert’s doublet once more, takes a deep breath as she pulls him down while she stands on her tiptoes, and kisses him. Hopes she's doing it right —is acutely aware of her lack of experience, _suddenly_ , and how much more experienced Robert _is_ — but Lyanna is nothing if not stubborn and she refuses to yield. And it takes a moment, Robert freezes before tentatively moving his hands to her waist, but soon the kiss turns into something _else_ . Her betrothed groans low in his throat, brings her closer to him as one of his hands travels up into her hair, deepening the kiss and _Lyanna_ – she's quickly forgetting what all this is about.

 

They break apart only a little, _to breathe_ , and once more she's drawing him closer; her lips part and, _right there_ , his name at the tip of her tongue—

 

Someone clears their throat. The moment is shattered.

 

“Dear cousin, must you do this?”

 

The Prince's voice is what it takes to pull her out of the heady haze in which she'd fallen. Lyanna loosens her grip on Robert, nudging his shoulder in an attempt to tell him to set her down, but he seems in no rush, ignores her cues as another smirk spreads across his face. Would if she could smack it off – and her feet are back on solid ground, though Robert doesn't let go.

 

“I'm in the privacy of my tent, cousin,” he replies without looking back, winks at her in amusement. “No harm is being done.”

 

“You bring insult upon your betrothed and her noble house.”

 

It suddenly becomes clear Prince Rhaegar cannot see her, would not know he's mistaken; it rankles that he is so quick to assume the worst, because Robert has been making an effort to behave, she knows, she's noticed, Ned's corroborated it. _Unlike Brandon_ , she thinks, wincing. _Poor Lady Catelyn._

 

Robert frowns upon seeing her expression, surely jumping to the wrong conclusions. “This _is_ my betrothed,” he says, a tad forcefully as he steps aside, keeping a hand on her back. “Lady Lyanna Stark.”

 

Prince Rhaegar blinks, inclines his head to her, and mumbles an apology. A cursory glance is all he spares her, before turning his focus on Robert.

 

“What can I do for you?”

 

Lack of respect aside, the Prince seems completely uninterested in being here, which doesn't make sense as he is the one who came in unannounced. Ser Barristan frowns though, shifts anxiously, clearly caring for Robert's discourteous way of addressing his liege.

 

“We were told you might have information about the Mystery Knight.”

 

Her heart halts, trips, and then clatters erratically against her chest; it's all Lyanna can do to keep a mildly curious expression.

 

“Why would I have any information about him?”

 

“Ser Richard said you swore to unmask him.”

 

Lyanna blinks. _Who's that?_

 

“Yes, and so did he. We made a bet of it.” Robert grins then, pulls her close to his side. “But as you've seen, I got distracted.”

 

It's only because they have an audience what stops her from snapping her elbow into his side. Still, she blushes. _“Robert.”_

 

He laughs and squeezes her hip.

 

The Prince clears his throat again. “Well, if you find out anything, let me know.”

 

“I will, cousin.”

 

Ser Barristan scowls but soon, he's following Prince Rhaegar out of the tent.

 

“You shouldn't have disrespected the Prince,” she says, shaking her head disapprovingly.

 

“He shouldn't have simply walked in unannounced.” There's a pause and his grin is back in full force. “So…”

 

Truly, there's no need for him to finish that sentence, the suggestive way in which he looks at her is enough; her face glows warmer, and this time she doesn't think twice before elbowing him and moving away, trying her best to ignore his chuckles.

 

“Think nothing of it.”

 

“A difficult task, my lady. Impossible, in fact.”

 

Gods, but she really, _really_ wants to smack the smirk off his face. “ _Try_ , my lord,” she deadpans. “I only did it to make you stop talking.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “They were coming in, and you were about to _ruin_ everything.”

 

But Robert seems not to listen, sauntering closer to where she stands. “How may I ensure that you employ such tactics on with me, always?”

 

 _Gods_ , but he is infuriating. “Since our business is concluded here, if you would _please_ escort me back to my brothers, Lord Baratheon?”

 

He laughs but concedes to her request, offering his arm – and if she hesitates to take it, _well_ , that’s because he’s grating on her nerves and _not_ because his grin makes her chest flutter. He walks her back to the Stark tent, slowly and certainly not along the most direct route. He is enjoying this, trying to get a rise out of her, trying to embarass her over a kiss that she is already plenty embarrassed of. She wonders how he can even think of such a trivial thing while she is still trying to stave off panic. Robert has assured that the armor will not be found, he took it to the edge of the God’s Eye and sank it all into the waters of the lake. Only the fish will ever be able to recover it. And her shield… Hidden, he tells her, and safe. He will return it to her when this all has passed. Until then, she simply has to trust him.

 

They stop just outside of the Stark tent and she feels she must tell him again. “Thank you, Robert. You took a great risk for me, and I cannot repay you—”

 

“You owe me nothing, Lyanna. I will always help you if you have need of it.” He takes her hand in his, thumb making a gentle sweep across her knuckles. A simple gesture, yet it stirs something in her, sets her heart fluttering all over again. And that is nothing compared to what that soft look in his eye does to her…

 

“Lyanna!” A rustle of canvas and a voice —Ned’s— interrupts them. Lyanna quickly pulls her hand from Robert’s, as if she’s been caught in the midst of an act far more scandalous than mere hand-holding. “Lya, I’ve been worried for you. Where did you run off to?”

 

She turns to her brother and tries to muster an innocent smile for him. “I’m sorry, brother. The King frightened me, is all.”

 

“And I told you, my lady,” Robert says, picking up on her tale, “that you have nothing at all to fear from him.” Truly, in another life, he would have made quite a respectable mummer.

 

“You’ve… been with Robert?”

 

It’s the grin what tells her Robert is up to something, unrepentant and entirely too mischievous. “Is that a problem? We are to be wed.” He grabs hold of her hand again and turns wide blue eyes on her, kissing her knuckles. “Allowing her to find comfort and courage in my arms is the least I could do.”

 

“Lya?”

 

Lyanna doesn't miss her brother’s curious and confused expression, doesn't comment on it nor on the blush that's definitely climbing up her neck. But she can't exactly go and refute those words without spilling her secret – and it's not as if it's a full lie. Hoping to make him stop, she squeezes his fingers a tad too tight, but Robert is unperturbed.

 

“Right, my lady? Tell dear Ned how we spent the time getting to know each other.”

 

Her nails dig into his skin but her smile —she hopes— is bright. “Oh, yes, it was lovely, brother! I could've never imagined there was so much to know about _my betrothed_.”

 

Ned's clearly shocked as Robert leans closer, or pulls her closer, it's hard to tell when her senses are suddenly overwhelmed by _him_.

 

“Lyanna,” Robert whispers, smirks as if he's won something and, _really_ , would anyone blame her if she were to smack him for it? “You’re trying too hard.”

 

“You are _infuriating_.”

 

“Will you shut me up with another kiss?”

 

“What's this about a kiss?”

 

Belatedly, she realizes their whispers were no longer whispers.

 

“Never you mind about that, Ned,” Lyanna says, stepping away from Robert and moving to her brother’s side. “Have no fear. My _virtue_ is still in tact.”

 

“Robert—”

 

“Truthfully, Ned. I would only treat your dear sister with the utmost respect.”

 

Ned gives them another confused look, an expression that is terribly endearing, _he looks rather like a puppy when his eyebrows do that_ , but neither she nor Robert offers anything more in the way of explanation. No, he has no place in their shared secret. “I thank you again, Robert, for calming my silly fears.”

 

“‘Twas nothing at all,” he assures her with a wink. “Now, I leave you to the care of your brothers. I have things to attend to, but I will see you at the feast tonight?”

 

Lyanna agrees and dismisses him with a curtsey.

 

“…what was all that?” Ned turns and asks her the moment Robert is out of sight.

 

“All what?”

 

“All that.” He gestures between her and where Robert had been standing just before. “You and Robert.”

 

“What of it?” Lyanna aims to appear disaffected. “We are to be married, soon enough. Is it wrong that I spend some time getting to know the man?”

 

“Not at all, Lyanna. I just thought…”

 

“Thought what, Ned?” Even though she knows exactly what it is he thought. They had discussed the matter of her betrothal to his foster brother more than once on the journey south to Harrenhal. Lyanna is not stupid, she remembers quite well what she said of the man, her objections to him. And those fears, they still stand. However, they do seem to have quieted some… _Hope_ , she realizes, is what she feels. Hope that Robert would not feel the need to stray now that they’ve spent some time together, not blatantly. His eyes had wandered plenty during the first day, she’d noticed, but— that blue gaze had not been as intense as when it’d landed on her, the day before. She sighs. “I’ve decided to give him a chance.”

 

This time there’s no half lie lurking within her statement; she’s under no illusion of some miracle happening that would grant her another choice in this matter. So long as Robert is agreeable, her lord father would not change his mind about the betrothal. And perhaps, _perhaps_ , it’ll be good. Robert – he’d not been upset or disappointed upon discovering her secret; amused, indulgent, and later as they had their friendly match, _thrilled_. A concept. No lord would be accepting of their lady wife learning swordplay, Father had said, especially a southron one. But  her betrothed seems to be an exception and it makes her _wonder_ ; would Robert allow her to get proper training once they wed? Would he let her carry a sword, real steel? If he would… if he would, then that would make this betrothal and their eventual marriage _worth it_.

 

Though her words surprise him, Ned accepts them with no further comment, and then he urges her inside their tent.

 

* * *

 

Robert had just about put the whole affair behind him. So what if the King demanded the head of the Mystery Knight —his Lyanna— it mattered not, as the King would never find out. Let the Prince scramble all over the Riverlands, he would not find Lyanna’s armor. He’d made certain of that. And the shield, saved on a whim, hoping to please his lady, tossed up into the trees out of sight. Hidden well. Or so he thought.

 

However… his blood runs cold as the Prince enters the hall, just as the feast was to begin, a flash of red and white held on his arm, and Robert places it immediately. The laughing weirwood tree, Lyanna’s shield. _How did he find it?_ What else does Rhaegar know of the Mystery Knight?

 

Robert watches with trepidation as Prince Rhaegar approaches the King, presents him with what he has found. “There is no other sign of the knight, Your Grace. We only found his shield, discarded among the trees beyond the castle.”

 

King Aerys takes the shield, studies it closely, before tossing it carelessly to the side. From the next table over, Robert hears Lyanna gasp and he wishes he could be beside her, take her hand, _offer his comfort_. “A coward, as I said.” It seems like there would be no more than that, no crazed explosion as there’d been early in the day; but then his gnarled hands slam onto the table, as his head swings about with a snarl. “A traitor! An enemy of the Throne! Death – _I want you to bring me his head!_ ”

 

Rhaegar takes a step closer, bows low, before giving his father a solemn look, beseeching. “I do not believe he is an enemy, Your Grace. Perhaps, he was only a boy craving recognition, playing at being a knight—”

 

The way his lips pull back, baring his teeth, the King looks truly deranged.

 

“—but if it would please His Grace, I shall keep investigating the matter,” says Rhaegar, hastily, and manages to appease his father. “But we should allow the jousts to continue tomorrow. Let's not impose on our generous host.”

 

“Yes… It would please me.” Though he looks anything but pleased, with the dark look he gives his son and heir.

 

Quickly enough, the King’s mood shifts. He carves into the meal before him, as if he hadn’t been calling for a man’s death — _a girl, Lyanna is a girl yet_ — just this morning, _just this moment_ , and calls for the singers to play a bawdy tune to entertain him. He wonders how it is that all the other lords and ladies in attendance can move past that so easily, _does no one care at all that the King’s gone mad?_ How can they all return to their feasting and laughter, dance as if nothing is wrong?

 

Although, he does use the dancing to his advantage. An excuse to steal Lady Lyanna from her seat, hold her close. And thankfully, the music was loud enough that they could talk easily, without much fear of being overheard.

 

“How did he find it?” Lyanna hisses at him. “You swore—”

 

“I do not know, my lady. All I do know is that I hid the bloody thing.”

 

“Robert—”

 

“Fear not,” he says to her, _to himself._ “You’ve nothing at all to fear.”

 

“ _Nothing at all?_ I would accuse you of jesting, except there is nothing funny about this situation! The punishment for treason—”

 

Robert spins her around then, prevents her from saying the word. He cannot bear to think about that, not Lyanna, no. “The King cannot charge you with treason without a trial. And mad he may be, but he is not so far gone as to put a young girl on trial. Even if… if the worst should happen…”

 

“You don’t know that, Robert. Father says that the King—”

 

“Hush.” And how he wishes he could silence her the way she did him, but he doubts it would be as welcome now. “We cannot discuss this here. Too many ears about.”

 

“Then where? Let’s go.” She tugs at his hand, but, he remains in place on the dancefloor. They cannot go rushing off now. Her brothers are ever vigilant and, while Ned might not be quick to jump to the worst conclusion were he to let Lyanna lead him to a secluded place, Brandon most definitely _would_.

 

“No. Not now, Lyanna.” He catches sight of Rhaegar then, engaged in a serious discussion with Ser Arthur Dayne, and an idea strikes him. He must find out what Rhaegar knows. “Do you trust me?”

 

“What?”

 

“Do you?”

 

She looks him in the eye and replies with a quick nod. “Absolutely.”

 

Grabbing her firmly by the waist, he spins around again, pulling her in closer and letting the motions of the dance do the rest. Robert takes joy in her statement, the complete certainty on her voice, _truly_ , he thinks her trust might be worth more than a kiss. And when the song has them slowing down, he grins at her and whispers, “Then trust that I will fix this.”

 

“I do, but how—?”

 

He hushes her again. “Not here. Not tonight. There's nothing more we can do now.”

 

She dislikes that answer, but does not argue further, reluctant acceptance. Truthfully, he dislikes it as well, this… helplessness. Robert is a man of action, would that he could _fight_ something, someone. _The Prince, perhaps, or maybe the King himself._ Fight for his lady’s honor, to protect her, isn't that what knights do?

 

Once the song comes to an end, Brandon appears to take his sister back, though her resistance only makes the eldest Stark give him a severe glare. Robert simply smiles, and steals Ned away in response, to keep himself from doing something reckless, to keep his mind occupied the rest of the feast. Which, sadly, turns rather dull now that he no longer has Lyanna within his embrace.

 

“If I ask what it is you've been doing with my sister,” Ned makes a pause, frowning at him, “would you tell me?”

 

“Must you assume the worst of me, Ned?” Robert replies, affecting an air of offense, and sighs. “You grope a few girls and, suddenly, you're groping them all.”

 

“Do not take this lightly—”

 

“I couldn't tell you, even if I wanted to.” And he doesn't want to. “Ned, there's nothing for you to worry about. I promise you.”

 

“Brandon is concerned.”

 

Robert grins. “Brandon doesn't like me.”

 

“Not because of you, precisely. But he's very protective of Lyanna,” Ned says, shrugs helplessly, as if he weren't the same. “And until… _very recently_ , Lyanna did not…” His friend trails off, as if realizing what he'd almost said, then makes a vague gesture with his hand. “Brandon thinks you've…”

 

“Made her fall for my charm?”

 

“Seduced her.”

 

“Is that what you believe?”

 

Ned doesn't say yes, but nor does he deny it.

 

“Seven hells, Ned!” For a moment, he’s speechless, his earlier jest ringing much too loud between them; then, Robert glares, growls at his dearest friend. “You told me not to insult your sister, and I haven't! I would not dishonor her, she is to be my _wife_.” He can get his gratification someplace else, if it truly became too unbearable; even if the thought does not hold the appeal it once did. “Gods, I _cannot_ win with you. When she hates me, I must be on my best behavior to win her favor,” he snaps, “yet when she likes me, it must be because I defiled her?”

 

“I never said you did—”

 

He waves him off. “Shouldn't you be glad of this change of heart?”

 

“I am, truly. I just wish to understand it.”

 

“Is it too much to believe that we just talked?” Which is most of the truth; Robert looks towards the dancing couples, catches sight of Lyanna sharing a dance with her eldest brother, though not one she seems to be enjoying if the frown in her face tells him anything. “That once she saw me beyond my reputation, beyond my bastard, she found something agreeable?”

 

Brandon is talking, whatever it is, it makes Lyanna glare fiercely at him; but once she’s spun around, and their eyes meet, the anger melts, if only for a brief moment.

 

“I hope that is it,” says Ned, recapturing his attention.

 

Robert sighs, dragging his fingers through his hair. “I swear to you, I have not laid an inappropriate hand on Lyanna.”

 

“Still… It is improper for you two to be alone together, unchaperoned.”

 

Robert scoffs at that, _damn propriety_ , he has no use for it. Less so now, when it was _propriety_ that kept Lyanna’s wild side hidden from him. The defiance, the spark in her eyes, and her quick temper; that which doesn’t fail to set his blood on fire, like so very few things have before. “We are to be married—”

 

“But you are not yet. Please, Robert. Respect this, and don’t got off alone with Lyanna again.”

 

“Fine,” is his curt reply, although he isn’t sure it’s a promise he can keep. Not if the Prince keeps searching for the knight, not if the King decides to reopen the issue. _Not if Lyanna looks at him like that, the trust in her eyes, mischievous smile on those sweet lips…_ “But know this, Ned, and tell your brother too. She may be your sister for now, but soon, she will be my lady wife. And then, there is nothing you can do to stop me from being _alone_ with her as much as _I_ _please_.”

 

It rubs him the wrong way, it shows, Ned is adept at keeping a calm enough expression, but this— Robert grins, salutes him, and moves away quickly, sensing a blow-up he’d rather not bear in the middle of a crowded hall. Quickly, he meanders through lords and ladies alike, soldiers and serving maids, but just as he’s about to reach the doors, a small hand grabs hold of his elbow and spins him around. His harshly worded retort dies in his throats once he comes face to face with Lyanna.

 

“My lord, dance with me.”

 

It is a demand, though one he’s happy to oblige. Their fingers entwine and swiftly, he pulls her among the twirling couples, falling into step with them easily enough. There’s not need to ask for her motives, Robert can see Brandon fuming near the edges of the hall, with a nervous looking Benjen at his side, every time there’s a turn. He’s no problem to let Lyanna use him as an excuse to avoid her brothers’ judgement, as a shield if he must. And if that’s how they’re meant to spend the rest of the feast, then he’ll do so doing it gladly, so long as he has her close.

 

* * *

 

The jousts resume the next morning without incident. Though some in the crowd still anticipate a reappearance of the Mystery Knight, the King seems satisfied that he will not. However, knowing the secret of the Knight of the Laughing Tree, Robert finds himself less captivated by the jousts than he had been before. Not when Lyanna’s fate was still so uncertain. He promised her, before they parted the previous evening, that he would do what he could to assure her safety, but as of yet, he had been unable to act upon that. To accomplish his goal, he would first need to speak with Rhaegar, alone if possible, or at least away from the crowds. But he hasn't had the opportunity.

 

Until he catches the Prince excusing himself to King Aerys in the middle of the jousts. Robert debates only a moment before rising to his feet, having decided to follow him, as chances are he wouldn’t have another opportunity like this. He catches Lyanna’s eyes briefly, before walking away. Expecting to head towards the tents, Robert’s surprised when he ends up following Rhaegar back into the castle, even if he counts his blessings at noticing none of the Kingsguard accompany him.

 

“Cousin!”

 

Rhaegar pauses, turns to look over his shoulder, but other than a slight raise of his eyebrows, he seems unsurprised. “Robert,” he says, waits for him to catch up. “What can I do for you?”

 

Probably throwing an arm around his shoulders would be too much, they'd never been close, but a grin is still in order. “I reckon you have the answer to whether I'll be ten golden dragons richer by the end of the day.”

 

Rhaegar sighs, motions for him to follow; they walk through mostly empty halls towards the chambers assigned to the royal family. “It was no easy task, finding that shield, not easy and incredibly dull. And indeed, it was all I found,” he says. “I understand why you decided to pursue more interesting matters, cousin.”

 

He smirks unabashedly as he follows the Prince into his empty chambers, and Rhaegar pulls something that might pass as a smile, for someone as melancholy as he.

 

“So it wasn't Ser Jaime Lannister then?”

 

“It may yet have been, but I found nothing to say whether it was or was not,” says the Prince, walking across the chambers towards a desk. “If you hoped for my word confirming the identity of the Mystery Knight, I'll have to disappoint you, for I do not know it.”

 

“Huh.” Robert leans against the empty chair facing Rhaegar. “So it's as you said? Found the shield hanging off a tree.”

 

“It was carefully tucked among the highest branches, hidden deliberately, but, yes.” His cousin looks at him for long seconds before speaking again. “I'm sorry.”

 

“You've nothing to apologize for.” He waves off his apology. “It seems Richard and I will be keeping our gold, after all. Well, I'll be going now, lest some people think I'm off causing mischief.”

 

Another gesture that could pass for a smile is his answer and his dismissal. He hadn't accomplished much, except he knows for certain Rhaegar remains oblivious to the identity of the Mystery Knight. _It's all that matters now, making sure Lyanna is safe._ It's as he's leaving that he sees it, though, the severely dented shield with a laughing weirwood tree, resting innocently against the wall next to the bed.

 

“Please close the doors on your way out, Robert.”

 

“Is that it?” He asks.

 

“What?”

 

“The knight’s shield.” Robert picks it up, inspects it as if it's the first time he's seen it so close. “I thought your father would've had it burned in effigy.”

 

“I'm sure that's what he would’ve wanted that as well.” Rhaegar takes the shield from his hands, he doesn't seem to notice Robert’s reluctance to give it up, and holds it with a kind of reverence that makes Robert want to growl. _That's Lyanna’s shield, my betrothed. You have no right to that._ “The artwork is captivating, don't you think?”

 

“It's a tree,” he says with a disinterested shrug, though he doesn't take his eyes off the shield.

 

“A weirwood tree. A heart tree, to be particular.” Rhaegar strokes his long fingers across its face. “Do you know that the Northerners believe that the Old Gods see through the eyes of the heart trees?”

 

The conversation unnerved him. “I thought you kept to the Seven.”

 

“Oh, I do. That doesn't stop me from being interested in other beliefs. Your betrothed, she’s of the North, correct?”

 

“Lady Lyanna Stark,” he confirms. _What is he hinting at?_ A shiver runs down his spine, and he struggles to keep his expression relaxed. _It’s not possible… he cannot know it is her._ “Do you think the Mystery Knight was a Northman then?” Robert asks. “To have a heart tree for his device.”

 

Rhaegar shrugs and lays the shield to rest on his desk. “I do not know who he was, as I told you.”

 

 _‘He’_. _Rhaegar said ‘he’._ That means that Lyanna is not under suspicion, good.

 

“There are enough houses who yet keep to the Old Gods south of the Neck. House Blackwood has a weirwood on their sigil, perhaps it was a young member of that house.”

 

Robert shakes his head. “The knight wore poor armor, barely more than scrap metal.” He had inspected the plate himself, it was a miracle Lyanna hadn’t been injured wearing that. “I do not think he was from a noble house, even a minor one.”

 

“Nor do I.” The Prince hums thoughtfully. “The horse was a poor breed; no aspiring knight, noble or baseborn, would compete with such a horse, which makes this all the more intriguing. What motivated this man… to risk Father’s ire like this.”

 

 _Nothing,_ thinks Robert, barely holding back his scoff, _neither you nor the King had anything to do with this._ “Well,” says Robert instead, sparing one last glance at the shield, remembering how fiercely Lyanna had wanted to keep it, “I really must go. I wouldn’t want to keep you from your responsibilities.”

 

Again, there’s a tug at the corner of his lips, _almost_ a smile, as Rhaegar says, “Do not let _me_ keep you from your lovely betrothed, cousin.”

 

“Nothing could ever keep me from her,” he replies, grinning, and with a wave, Robert leaves the Prince’s chambers. He pauses in the hall, lets out a sigh of relief. Lyanna is safe. Neither the Prince or the King’s eyes would turn on her. Nor Benjen or the other boy either, not if Rhaegar suspected one of the smallfolk. _Safe, thank the gods that she won't suffer for this mistake._ But her shield… he had hidden it with the intent to return it to her, when it was safe to do so. Perhaps… perhaps he still can… He leaves the castle then, with a shake of his head and a plan forming in his mind.

 

* * *

 

The rest of the tourney passes without much incident. Although there are still whispers through the crowds, the King makes no mention of the Mystery Knight again. However when the tourney comes to an end, and the Sword of the Morning unhorses Ser Barristan the Bold after seemingly endless tilts and broken lances, and crowns the Princess Elia as Queen of Love and Beauty when it was expected he would honor his sister, all talk of the Mystery Knight ends swiftly. From some, it is due to the disappointment, and lost bets, that the Mystery Knight had not returned after all. For others, it was the perceived and imagined scandal that Ser Arthur’s choice would cause. Though he would hardly be the first or only of the Kingsguard to honor ladies of the royal family, there were some of the more gossipy members of the court who whispered of an affair between the Princess and her knight. If there were any truth to those rumors, however, Prince Rhaegar seemed not to have heard them, because he took no slight in the gesture, only congratulated his friend on his victory. The King was more offended, made an off-color remark about the dishonesty of Dornishmen, he would’ve preferred a victory from Ser Barristan or the one called Bronze Yohn Royce. For a brief moment, it seemed that Prince Oberyn would challenge the King himself for such a comment, the crowd stirred in anticipation, but the Dornish Prince was subdued by a quiet word from his sister, the Princess.

 

The final feast, that night after the final rounds of the joust, left Lyanna feeling rather bittersweet, a strange mix of emotions. She would miss the excitement of the tourney, certainly. Less so the unnerving presence of the King. She still doesn’t understand how things unraveled the way that they had. She competed in a joust, unhorsed three minor, and rather unskilled, knights. How any of that could’ve been perceived as a threat to the crown…  She’d only wanted to teach those squires a lesson. _And to have a bit of fun herself._ None of this would’ve been an issue at all if girls were allowed to tilt.

 

Although competing under the Stark sigil wouldn’t have been half as exciting as being the Knight of the Laughing Tree.

 

“Oh, cheer up, Lyanna. You look too much like Ned when you frown like that,” Brandon says as he drops a tankard of ale in front of her. “Why so glum?”

 

“I’m not glum,” she replies, but accepts the drink nonetheless.

 

“Is that so?” He pinches at her chin. “My mistake, this is the face of pure joy.”

 

She knocks his hand away. “Shut up.”

 

“Are you going to miss the tourney? Or are you simply eager to return home?” Brandon pauses then, an odd moment as he looks up, something caught his attention across the hall. Lyanna follows his gaze and she knows immediately what it is. Robert Baratheon, grinning at her, making his way towards them. “Is it him that’s got you so sour?”

 

“He’s not so bad as you think he is, Brandon,” Lyanna says, feeling the need to defend her betrothed _yet again_ from her brother. They’ve had this discussion, or one similar, rather frequently over the past three days.

 

“Do you not recall that you were the one who first objected—”

 

Lyanna kicks his shin under the table to shut him up as Robert approaches, drinking her tankard in one go. He gives Brandon a brief nod before turning his eager eyes on Lyanna. “A dance, my lady.” He doesn’t wait for her consent, nor does he listen to Brandon’s protests, simply takes her by the wrist and pulls her along to the floor.

 

“Robert,” she hisses, though not displeased with the sudden interruption. “What are you doing?”

 

“I’ve a surprise for you, Lyanna,” he says with an ill-contained grin.

 

“What is it?”

 

He shakes his head. “I cannot tell you here.” His smile only widens though, his blue eyes sparkling with some mischief and it makes Lyanna infuriatingly curious.

 

“Then where?”

 

“I made a promise to your brother that I wouldn't go off alone with you again, you know,” Robert tells her, grabbing her by the waist and sweeping her along the moves of the dance.

 

“That's not fair! Robert, what is this surprise?”

 

“You would have me break my word, to my oldest and dearest friend? Closer to me than mine own brothers? My lady!”

 

Lyanna swats at his shoulder. “I'll not stand for your teasing.”

 

She tries to steer their movements closer to the doors, but Robert is quick to spin them around and weave their way through the dancing couples until they’re back to the very center of the hall. A large hand splayed across her lower back, he keeps their steps graceful and nimble but commanding enough that she cannot make them change pace.

 

And then he pulls her closer, bends down to whisper in her ear, “Your brothers, Lyanna, are watching. If we leave now—”

 

Lyanna shivers, but has no time to wonder about it as Robert makes her twirls once, enough for her to catch a glimpse of her brothers once again watching attentively. A gentle pull has her spinning right back into Robert’s arms, to face his infuriating grin, so she decides to play at his game. Takes a step closer, winds her arms around his neck and urges him to bend down until it’s her lips brushing against his ear.

 

“What do you fear more, I wonder?” There is a great satisfaction as she feel him shudder at her breath. “Brandon’s blade or my ire?”

 

“Threats, Lyanna?” It amuses him, she can tell. “My, my.” So he moves his head enough to look her in the eyes. “I must admit, I would not like to face your ire before we are wed, as I’m powerless to diffuse it now.”

 

“In that case, I suggest you don’t keep this secret surprise of yours dangling before me for too much longer.”

 

“As my lady commands.” He steps away from her with a bow, discreetly eyeing Ned and Brandon. Lyanna follows his gaze, sees that the Lady Ashara has captured Ned in a dance while Brandon stands by the wall, laughing and with an arm thrown over Benjen’s slim shoulders, to the apparent annoyance of the youngest Stark. Arms crossed over his chest and face red. “Quickly.” He takes her by the hand and leads her out of the hall, through the winding corridors, up several staircases, until at last they stop before a chamber door. _His_ chamber door.

 

“Robert Baratheon!” It is only for one reason that he could’ve brought her here, to his rooms, isn’t there? _Would he really be so bold?_

 

Perhaps – perhaps, had he done this days before, she’d be reacting more strongly; a kick in the shin, a baleful glare, she’d storm away and go to her brothers, let them take care of this. But…  a kiss had been shared; mind-blowing and that’s left her yearning for another, though the chance has not presented itself. A kiss that had awakened something in her, something Lyanna’s yet to try to understand. _We are to be married,_ she thinks, puts up no resistance when Robert leads her past the door and closes it. _But we’ve only kissed once._ Robert hasn’t asked for another kiss, and while a part of her is a bit relieved, another has hoped for it.

 

His grin is as insufferable as ever, yet far from wanting to smack him, Lyanna would much rather kiss him. _I can kiss him,_ she thinks, _he won’t mind._ She’s certain, Robert won’t be opposed to another kiss, if his teasing is proof enough. _He brought me to his chambers, after all._ Eager, he’ll be, perhaps as eager as he’d been that day in his tent. _I’d like that, and after…_ Feels the heat rush to her face, spread throughout her body, then pool in her tummy. Lyanna blinks at him, and thinks it wouldn’t be so bad, this _after_. His kiss made her feel good, perhaps what comes later will—

 

She is unable to finish that thought, however, when Robert takes her by the shoulders and —rather than pulling her against him, kissing her the way she’s aching for— turns her around and she sees it, his surprise. “Oh, Robert! How?” She rushes across the room and scoops up her shield from where it was lying on the bed. He told her he had hidden it for her, but that had been before the Prince found it and gave it to the King. Lyanna had given her shield up for lost then, she never expected— “How did you get it back?”

 

“Don’t you fret over that, Lyanna,” he says, coming to stand at her side. He traces a finger along the edge of the shield, his hand coming to rest over hers, calloused and warm.

 

“You shouldn’t have done this. It’s too dangerous. If the King were to discover—”

 

“The King cares not a wit for a scrap of wood. And I care not a wit for the danger of it. It’s your shield. I know how loathe you were to give it up. Think of it as… a wedding gift.”

 

“Robert…”

 

“This is what it will be like, you know. Our marriage. Anything you want, no matter how impossible, I’ll do it for you.”

 

Lyanna pulls her eyes off the shield and looks to Robert, struck dumb by the utter sincerity in his voice. There is not a trace of falsehood or exaggeration. If she only said the word, he would scale the Wall with his bare hands, swim the Narrow Sea, face the Stranger himself in single combat… “How can I ever thank you for this?”

 

“I do believe a kiss would be an appropriate reward,” he says with a grin, even winks at her, though his teasing demeanor doesn't last, gone as swiftly as that day in the woods, after their friendly match. “May I?”

 

“What?”

 

“May I kiss you?”

 

The heat rushes to her face once more; Lyanna wants to say yes, but the words are suddenly stuck in her throat so she nods. His hands are surprisingly gentle when he takes the shield from her to set it aside, surprisingly tender when he brushes errant locks of hair off her face – she gasps. Robert slides one hand to cup the back of her head, the other to grab a hold of her waist; meets no resistance when he urges her closer, her head tilts back on its own. A soft brush of lips; they shudder. This already feels so very different from the last time, more… meaningful; there’s no hesitation to overcome or the lurking thought of being watched.

 

Robert pulls back, takes a deep breath, and she may or may not make a soft sound of protest – can’t know for sure, not when he’s drawing them into another kiss, deeper, longer, one that quickly sends her thoughts scattering into the night. Their lips pull and push and in between there are whimpers and moans and she’s not really sure from whom they come. Lyanna grips at his doublet and tugs him closer, raises to balance herself on her toes and then wraps her arms around his neck to press as close as possible to him. He groans, staggers, until her back presses sharply against a bedpost.

 

Lyanna breaks the kiss, gasping. “Wait.”

 

And Robert freezes, a hand tangled in her hair while the other remains splayed across her back to keep her from falling back to stand fully on her feet. He pants as if coming back from an intense bout in the training yard, tense and trembling as if exerting all of his control to do as she requested.

 

So she lays a short kiss on his lips before gently coaxing him back, back until her feet are fully on the ground and she can maneuver him to sit on the bed. The chamber is dimly lit but her eyes have grown accustomed enough that she can appreciate the sight he presents – rumpled clothes and disheveled hair, the blue of his eyes nearly overshadowed by his blown pupils; hands reaching for her, grabbing her hips and, gently still, silently asking her to move closer. _I did that_ , Lyanna thinks with a foreign sort of satisfaction, of pride, realizing Robert is this eager for her.

 

The third kiss is better.

 

Overwhelming, but better. He’s all hard planes and sharp angles, solid muscle under her questing hands; his skilled mouth meeting her eagerness and pulling her further and further into a sea of entirely too pleasant sensations. Then his tongue sneaks past her parted lips, delves into her mouth, and Lyanna lets herself go; completely lost in Robert and his intoxicating kisses and skilled hands and the pleasant heat spiralling throughout her body.

 

Until he hisses sharply, abruptly it feels, and breaks the kiss, laboured breath and a mildly startled look on his face as he stares at her, eyes searching. It takes Lyanna a moment to realize their position, how she’s got him pinned to the bed while straddling his hips, how his hands are firmly settled on her bum; she’s as breathless as he and cannot understand how it is they got in this position but knows instinctively that a bit more time and they might have gotten carried away. _This_ is not proper, she thinks, braces her hands on his chest to sit up— Robert hisses, hands flexing on her bum, _groans_ , and Lyanna yelps and rolls off him quickly, cheek ablaze.

 

“How…” she clears her throat, feeling a little bit embarrassed, but not as much as she should probably feel. “How is that for a reward?”

 

Robert huffs out a laugh and sits up, she catches a brief glance of a wide grin before he’s dragging a hand over his face, before she’s hastily looking away. “That’s… good. Perfect,” he says at length, voice rough. “I’d like to know, Lyanna, how… it was for you.”

 

Lyanna stammers, uncertain how to answer him, _uncertain if she is even able to speak after that,_ but she manages to say, “Pleasant,” even though it is much too mild a word for what that was. _Pleasant_ doesn’t leave your heart pounding in your chest, it doesn’t leave you flushed and warm all over, aching for more. That, well, she doesn’t quite have the word for that.

 

“Aye, pleasant,” he agrees. He reaches for her hands so that he may press a kiss to her knuckles. “I pray you always find my kisses pleasant.”

 

She can’t imagine finding them otherwise, but of course, she cannot say as much to him. It will make him much too proud, and tonight she may actually succumb to her urges and smack the cocky smirk off his face. _Or kiss it off…_ She runs her tongue across her kiss-swollen lips, tilts her head just a bit closer towards his. She cannot ask for what it is she wants, but she hopes that Robert will know. He seems to, the way he tugs her closer, he drops her hands so that he may grab at her hips, and their lips meet again. There's no scattering of wits now, Lyanna is acutely aware of everything this time – the one hand he drags slowly up and down her thigh, thumb rubbing what's probably soothing circles but only makes the heat stronger, the way he waits just enough for her to wrap her arms around him once again before coaxing her back inch by _inch_.

 

He is more intoxicating than the ale she’d had at the feast and _that_ – that is a dangerous thing.

 

A pounding at the door tears through the haze though, makes her retreat, and her name in a hissed whisper that doesn’t come from her betrothed. “Lyanna!” It’s Benjen who calls her now. “Brandon and Ned are looking for you. The both of you.”

 

“Your brothers can all hang,” Robert mutters under his breath as he attempts to pull her back to him. But the moment is lost.

 

“One moment, Ben,” she calls back. She lets herself linger in Robert’s embrace, but only a moment, no longer, before she moves to right her wrinkled dress and attempts to smooth the plaits in her hair. “Robert, what of my shield…?”

 

“Find me tomorrow before you depart.”

 

Satisfied, she nods. Now it is time to face her brothers.

 

Ben looks perplexed when she opens the door, but Lyanna doesn't stop to answer his questions. She takes Robert by the hand —she cannot bring herself to stop touching him just yet— and leads them both back down to the Great Hall.

 

She halts them at the door, waits until she catches sight of the elder Stark sons, before sending Benjen out ahead of them. She then turns to Robert and commands, “Dance with me.”

 

He obliges gladly, his arms coming around low on her waist, and he leads her in the steps of the dance, gracefully falling in line with the other dancing couples, just as if they had never left to begin with.

 

At first, it appears as if the ruse has worked. Lyanna catches sight of Ned and sees his worried expression soften. Brandon still has a sour look about him, watching Robert with dark eyes, full of mistrust, but he seems content enough to know that they are not up to any trouble.

 

Until Robert makes a foolish misstep.  

 

On the next turn of the dance he draws her into what is clearly a lover's embrace, lifts her up so she may not have to tilt her head so far back —and Lyanna doesn’t stop him, Gods be good, but she doesn't even think to stop him— and kisses her, full on the mouth, demanding and for a moment, that feels so brief she swears it's barely a second, she melts into him and his arms and his kiss.

 

Then she's been rudely interrupted. Brandon’s hands are on her shoulders, pulling her back, away from Robert, as Ned swoops in from the other side, asking, “What’s going on here?”

 

“What do you think you’re doing to my sister?” Brandon challenges.

 

And Robert, the utter fool, smirks in response. “Dancing with the woman who is to be my wife. What did it look like?”

 

Brandon snarls, “It did not look much like _dancing_ , Lord Baratheon.”

 

Robert blinks, an expression that affects innocence, though all know he is only toying with Brandon. “Pray tell then, what _did_ it look like?”

 

Anger colors Brandon’s face. His hand lashes out, finding purchase on Robert’s doublet. He tugs him downward, so that he may speak face-to-face, an action that is made no less imposing by the fact that Robert stands a good half-head taller than him. “You will _not_ lay a hand upon my sister, do you hear me? You may be betrothed, but do not take for granted that she will be your wife. When my father hears word of how you treat her—”

 

“How _has_ he treated me, Brandon?” Lyanna interrupts. “Because from where I stand, Robert has been nothing but chivalrous.”

 

Brandon releases his grip upon Robert and turns to her. “You, dear sister, do not understand the minds of men.”

 

That makes her laugh. “With you as my brother, I know a good deal more than I ought. Or am I mistaken about what you were doing with Lady Ashara last night?”

 

Brandon straightens up, tension running through him as he spares a quick glance to Ned, who stands at his side. “That has no bearing here. We are discussing _him_ , not me.”

 

“We are not discussing any of this, not here,” Ned interjects. “This is not the appropriate time nor place.”

 

“Fine, perhaps we should take this to the yard, my lord,” Brandon sneers.

 

Robert’s smirk has not faded, not one bit, and he obliges to her brother’s unspoken challenge. “Tourney swords or live steel?”

 

“If you want to duel Robert, you’ll have to duel me first,” Lyanna says fiercely. “I will not let this stand, not when he has done nothing improper.” Briefly, her mind flits back to the feeling of his hands on her bum. That was less than proper, to be sure, but there is no reason for her brothers to know of that.

 

“I will not fight _you,_ Lya.”

 

“No one will be fighting anyone,” Ned says, ever the peacemaker. “Though, Robert, I am disappointed in you. You said you would not go off unchaperoned with her.”

 

“And he hasn’t!” Lyanna lies through her teeth. “We have been in this hall, dancing, the entire evening. What is with you, both of you? Are we to be punished for getting lost in the crowd? That’s stupid.”

 

“It’s not punishment, Lyanna,” Ned aims to placate. “It is only… we are concerned.”

 

“For what cause? Have I ever given you reason not to trust me?”

 

“You did the moment you changed your mind about this lout.” Brandon makes a wide gesture towards Robert. “You disappear for a day and come back singing his praises? Ned told me you had been alone with him for hours, said something of a kiss? Lyanna, he has taken advantage of you!”

 

“So, that’s how it is. A kiss is the same as seduction, all a man needs to take advantage of girls.”

 

“Yes.” Brandon misses the irony in her tone, and his own hypocrisy as well.

 

“A kiss? When did that happen?” Benjen pipes up. “Is that why you went to wait in his tent?”

 

“Shut up, Ben!” Lyanna hisses at him, but it is too late. Brandon and Ned had both heard.

 

“You were alone _in his tent?”_ Ned asks incredulously.

 

“That is it, Baratheon. You cannot expect to compromise my sister’s honor and escape with your head.” Brandon shoves the sleeves of his tunic up his arms, hands clenched in fists as he is ready to fight Robert here and now, careless of their surroundings, even weapons forgotten, he would take him with naught but his own hands.

 

Lyanna rolls her eyes at this mummer’s show of brotherly chivalry, and moves between her brother and her betrothed, guarding the latter from the former. She places her hands on Brandon’s chest and shoves him a step backwards. “My maidenhead is untouched and has nought at all to do with my _honor.”_ In fact, she thought Brandon would be rather proud of her, had he known the full truth. If she were to tell him that she had been the Mystery Knight, he would not dare to challenge her honor. “And it’s _Lord_ Baratheon, brother. Do not forget – you’re speaking to the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands.” Belatedly, Lyanna realizes her speaking up in Robert’s defense is probably not doing them any favours. If she is too defensive, it only makes her look more guilty. “It was just kissing! You cannot fault me for wanting to share a kiss with the man that is to be my husband! Would it be more forgivable to you if I sought such attention _outside_ my betrothal? Considering how seriously you take your own vows.”

 

Brandon growls, Ned frowns deeply as does Benjen; all three of them, her brothers, having endured her endless rants about this betrothal to Robert, her complaints and fruitless wishes that their lord father would change his mind. Four days – dare she say, perhaps less, but four days ago Lyanna had still been of the mind that this match would never be what she’d hoped for in a marriage, and she’d not been shy about speaking out against it to any of her brothers. And now, it is as Brandon says, a few hours alone with Robert and— _but I’m not singing his praises, I’ve simply had the time to get to know him better._ She’s not enamoured with the man, _why_ , the infuriating smirk he can’t seem to drop makes her want to smack him repeatedly and, surely, _surely_ that is not the thought of a maid who’s been seduced or taken advantage of.

 

It’s not merely his charm what’s made her change her mind, because Lyanna won’t lie to herself and claim she’s not been a bit charmed, no; his willingness to cross swords with her, how he’d not even doubted she could, his eagerness to help and his sincere words. _“Anything you want, no matter how impossible, I’ll do it for you."_   Those words, she cannot help but hope. Brandon would call her naive, would argue that she’s been told what she wants to hear so she may be more receptive to Robert and his advances, but Lyanna trusts her instincts enough to know that is not the case. Robert’s given her hope for a life that’s as close to what she wanted it to be as it would ever get.

 

“Once I tell Father—”

 

“He’ll be happy to know I’ve changed my mind about my betrothal.” Father had pulled her aside the day before the four of them were due to head south, one more effort to get her to listen.

 

_“This is a good match, Lyanna. Not just for the North, the alliances. But I believe for you as well.”_

 

_“How can it be good for me, if I do not want it?”_

 

_Father had given her a tired smile then. “You know, when you were born, I thought, ‘Good, a daughter should be easier than sons.’ Little did I know that you would give me more grief than all of your brothers combined.”_

 

_“Father—”_

 

_“Give the boy a chance,” he said. “Talk to him. Spend some time with him. If I cannot convince you, and Eddard cannot, mayhaps he can.”_

 

She had no intention of doing any such thing, had spent the first few days of the tourney deliberately avoiding spending a single moment more than she must in his company. But the gods had other plans for her. She hates to admit it, but Father had been right. “Father arranged the match. Do you really think he would be upset by this, Brandon?”

 

“Enough squabbling, all of you,” Ned raises his voice, and all fall silent. “You’ve not done anything wrong, by kissing Robert. She hasn’t, Brandon. But, Lyanna, you must understand why we are confused.”

 

“It confuses me as well,” she confesses under her breath. And that’s the truth of it. How quickly her feelings changed and how strong… All from just a few brief hours spent in his company.

 

Ned doesn’t seem to have heard her, but Robert must have, from the way his grin falters.

 

“Truly, Ned, Brandon, you have nothing to worry about. And it hardly matters anyway, as we are leaving on the morrow.” Lyanna pauses a moment before addressing Robert. “I suppose the next time we see each other will be at our wedding.” Though she’d only turned four-and-ten a scant few moons ago. The wedding would not take place for at least another two years. Suddenly, that feels like such a very long time to wait.

 

Robert nods. “Aye, I suppose it will be.” He reaches out for her hand, cautiously, waiting for Brandon to object, but none comes, and brings it to his lips. “My lady.”

 

Tempers have cooled, but Brandon is still less than thrilled with these new developments. As soon as her hand is released, Brandon takes her by the shoulders again, as if she were much younger than she is, and says, “It is getting late and the feast is nearly over. We’ve a long journey back to Winterfell. And you to Storm’s End. We should all rest up. To bed.”

 

There is nothing much else to say, no arguments to be made, though Lyanna would like to wait to hear the Prince’s song. Brandon is unmoveable, however. Without waiting for a dismissal from Robert, he leads his youngest siblings out of the hall towards their chambers, retiring for the night.

 

“Is that what you were doing in his chambers?” Benjen whispers to her as they walk. “Kissing? You oughtn’t be kissing alone in a man’s chambers.”

 

“No,” she says and it is easier to lie to Benjen, it always has been. “He recovered my shield. He only wanted to show me that.”

 

“Really?” Her brother perks up, exclaims a bit too loudly.

 

Brandon looks back at them over his shoulder. “What are you two whispering about?”

 

“The Mystery Knight,” Lya tells him, breezing past him into her room. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I must bid you all goodnight.”

 

* * *

 

He hears the squabbling before they come within sight; his men, used to the constant squabble of siblings it seems, are unperturbed by their unannounced arrival. Robert, having forgone the help of his squire loading the bags on his horse, for obvious reasons, stops adjusting the saddlebags in lieu of giving his visitors his full attention.

 

Even if they had yet to become aware of his presence.

 

“I'm telling you I can't!” The whine comes, perhaps, more high-pitched than the youngest Stark probably intended, but manages to convey the exasperation his face shows. “Lya, Brandon will kill me if I leave you alone with Robert a— Lord Baratheon!”

 

Robert smirks, nods in acknowledgment, but remains silent, enjoying watching the kid squirm in discomfort a little.

 

“I'm not asking you to leave,” says Lyanna, intent on finishing the conversation; her arms cross as she juts her chin up, affecting a commanding stance. “I simply do not want you to listen to what I will discuss with Robert.”

 

Benjen, clearly still too much a child, buckles under his sister stare and nods, though not happy about it. “You cannot go off alone! I won't eavesdrop but you must promise to stay within my sights.”

 

“Very well.”

 

Together, they watch him retreat some of his steps, far enough that no one can accuse him of trying to eavesdrop, and sits atop a crate, glaring at them. Or him. Robert's sure the glare is aimed at him.

 

“My lady,” he says after a moment, “I hope you slept well, it is a long journey that awaits you.”

 

Lyanna blinks, looking slightly confused, and steps closer. “I did, I… came to say farewell.”

 

The lifted eyebrows tell him the real reason, as he's well aware. “There was no need, Lyanna, I meant to come find you after I was done here.”

 

“We're departing soon, I didn't want to risk leaving before—” A tilt of her head, eyes flitting to Benjen, and Robert can imagine what it is she didn't want to risk. “Robert—”

 

A hard pat to the saddlebag is enough of an answer, and then he grabs her hand, pulls her closer despite Benjen's clear discomfort. “I had a thought, as I packed this last night,” he whispers. “I don't think it's safe for you to take the shield back to Winterfell.” She frowns, and so he hastens to explain. “I'm saying this – Prince Rhaegar's been looking for the shield, hasn't made much noise about it, but he is looking for it. I may have… stolen it from his personal quarters.” Robert is quick to press on before she can think too much on his confession. “Besides, say I hand you the bag now, you take it back to where Brandon and Ned await…”

 

Lyanna looks away, frowning petulantly. “I do not have to show them anything. It'll just be a present from you and—”

 

“All the more reason for them to insist. Especially Brandon.”

 

The eldest Stark seemed pretty set on his opinion that he, somehow, seduced Lyanna into liking him.

 

“I know,” she concedes at last, her tone morphing into a whine as she drags out the last word. “What do we do, then?”

 

“I take it to Storm's End. Hide it away until it is time for you to come, for the wedding.”

 

His words give her pause, and while she considers them, Robert takes the time to look at her. He'll not see her for another two years, at most – a bloody long time. And here's something that plagues him, the one thing that took his sleep away. Will she have changed her mind by then? Again? _Will Brandon succeed in changing her mind?_ He can't be sure why it is that the eldest Stark dislikes him so, but it can't bode well for Lyanna's feelings for him. _If she has any,_ Robert thinks rather glum, _a few days cannot be enough for it._ Gods be damned, but her hushed words from last night had not given him a moment's rest, haunt him despite everything. _I am being a fool. I knew all of that, from the moment we met._

 

There's no reason to feel hurt; he shouldn't be letting anything ruin the sweet memories of her kisses—

 

“Are you upset?”

 

Her question throws him, the concern etched in her expression even more so, which is why he misunderstands, and is quick to assure her it is no trouble for him to take the shield.

 

“I mean – last night, when I said…”

 

“No.” And it comes easily, the answer, with not a hint of lie to it. Upset? No. A little hurt, but only because he'd let himself get swept away in these moments with her. Alarmingly so, no girl has ever quite moved him this powerfully before. He smiles, and reaches up to stroke her face. “I'm not blind, Lyanna, and you're not as adept at keeping your emotions off your face as Ned is.”

 

She frowns then, just a little, and he cannot help but smile as she proves him right.

 

“I do not blame you for being confused. This—” _love,_ though he is careful not to say the word, “—is a confusing thing. Alas, I wish it were not nearly so. Perhaps, had you not thought so ill of me before…”

 

“I didn’t know,” she rushes to apologize. “I thought—”

 

“I know. I thought some things as well, which also turned out to be false. Neither of us really knew the other at all, did we?”

 

“I suppose not.”

 

“I hope—” He tries to find the words for what it is he wants to say. “I hope that you do not forget this, forget me as I truly am, when we are apart.”

 

“How could I ever?”

 

“Are you two going to kiss again?” Benjen calls out, having just noticed the way Robert’s hand lingers on her cheek, how she leans ever so slightly into his touch. “Brandon said you aren’t allowed to kiss anymore. I'm to watch you.”

 

“Then I suggest you close your eyes, Benjen,” Lyanna doesn’t even spare a backwards glance as she replies, her grey eyes fixed firmly on his.

 

Benjen does not take well to that answer, though. He vacates his seat upon the crate and marches over to the pair. The look on his face is rather fearsome, or it would have been, had he not been shorter than Lyanna, with angry red pimples smattered across his chin, indicating his extreme youth. “No! Brandon told me to stay by your side, to keep you out of trouble, and that’s what I’m doing. You’re lucky I haven’t told him yet about you being in Robert’s chambers last night.”

 

“And you are lucky I haven’t beaten you for telling him that I was in Robert’s tent the other day!”

 

“Lyanna!”

 

“Benjen!” She mimics his stubborn whine.

 

And Robert cannot help but laugh at their sibling squabbles. In a way, it reminds him of himself and Stannis, although, he and Stannis are truthfully nothing like the Starks. There is none of that teasing underneath it, when he argues with his brother, they lack that affection. That is a quality he much admires about his soon-to-be goodfamily. It is a large part of what drew him to Ned, during their first days in the Vale. That even those times when they couldn’t get along for the life of them, much to Jon Arryn’s aggravation, Ned would never hold it against him the next day. It was a sense of… _family_ that was entirely foreign to him. And he found he liked it very much, would do anything to hold onto it. Which is why when Jon approached him with the notion of the betrothal between Lyanna and himself, he agreed without hesitation.

 

“Really, we ought to go.” Benjen tugs at the sleeve of her gown.

 

“We’ve nearly said our goodbyes,” Robert tells him. “I just need another moment with your sister.”

 

Benjen tries protest, but Robert doesn’t give him the chance. He puts his large hands on the boy’s skinny shoulders, and turns him around, so that he faces the carts. For good measure, he gives him a slight push. Benjen stumbles a few feet further away.

 

When he turns his attention back to Lyanna, she is smiling at him, with a shy, yet alluring, bite of the lip. “Well then, Lord Baratheon, are you going to kiss me now?”

 

He gives her a smirk, oh, how he is tempted. But Robert is not sure that were he to kiss her now he would ever return her to her brothers. He tucks a strand of that dark hair behind her ear and lets his hand rest against the nape of her neck. “I think, perhaps, that we ought to respect your brothers’ wishes, just this once.” He is thrilled to hear her whine at that, but he remains steadfast. Though he will not have it said that Robert Baratheon _ever_ left a lady unsatisfied. With his hand upon the back of her head, he tilts her towards him, while he bends down to place a kiss upon her brow. Soft and gentle, _innocent_ , not something anyone, even Brandon, could find fault with.

 

“There, a kiss farewell, though you can say honestly to your brothers that you have not kissed me.”

 

“Robert—”

 

“You best be going. The both of you,” he raises his voice enough to catch Benjen’s attention as well. “It’s a long road to Winterfell.”

 

Lyanna nods. “Thank you again, for everything.” She casts a longing glance at his saddlebag, and he can see it, how much she wishes she could take the shield back with her. He wishes that too, but the risk is too great and he would not risk Lyanna’s safety for anything.

 

“Come along, Lya,” Benjen says.

 

But she hesitates, waits just a moment longer. Robert is about to ask what more she wants to say when she surprises him – though _why_ anything she does still surprises him anymore is a mystery in it of itself. Lyanna stands up on her toes, tugs him down by the laces of his doublet so that she may peck at his lips. “Safe travels, my lord,” she says softly before returning to her brother’s side and together, they disappear into the crowds.

 

Robert stands there long enough to catch the very last glimpse of Lyanna —his betrothed, _how lucky that she is mine_ — before he finishes his own preparations. He is not much anxious to return to Storm’s End, would rather go back to the Eyrie with Ned, but he has duties he cannot further neglect and brothers he must tend to. Although… the thought of the future, that someday he would welcome _her_ as the new Lady Baratheon, well, it makes the castle seems almost home again.

 

He is whistling a jaunty tune as he mounts his horse. The morning sun hangs low in the sky, pointing the way east, towards the Kingsroad, and it is that direction he must go. With a kick he urges his courser to a trot. Robert rides through what had only yesterday been an entire city of canvas, tents for lords and merchants and mummers alike. Now, though, half have already been pulled down and the other half is about to go. It is marvelous how full of life this place had been for the past ten days, and by tomorrow… it will be nothing but dead grass. Robert looks over the scene with a wistful smile. The tourney may be over, but it will live on in memory for a long time yet.

 

Something catches his attention as he rides out though. A quartered sigil of black and yellow, alternating between lips and skulls. House Lonmouth, Ser Richard. Only now does he even recall the bet they had made. _“He is nobleborn, I tell you that.”_ Well, he was half-correct. With a chuckle, Robert reaches into his coinpurse and counts out ten gold dragons.

 

“Ser Richard!” Robert demands the man’s attention, urging his horse closer to the remains of the tent. “I’ve something for you.”

 

He tosses the coins at Richard, who manages to catch most of them in his open palms. He opens his mouth to speak, surely to question _why_ Robert is paying his debt, but Robert doesn’t give him the chance to ask. With a grin, he digs his heels into his horse’s side and gallops out beyond the fields, into the morning sun and on his way back to Storm’s End, mind already skipping moons ahead in time to a moment when this trip will be done in the company of his lady wife, his Lyanna.

 

 _Perhaps,_ he thinks, letting his hand drift over his saddlebag, where the Mystery Knight’s shield lay hidden, _a trip to Winterfell is in order._


End file.
